"That is horrible," Circe said sharply, a scowl pulling at her lips.
"It is," Ragnar agreed without hesitation. "Yet many still agree with Marzen's ideals. That is why the practice remains."
Multiple thoughts churned through Circe's mind at once, each darker than the last as she searched through all she just learned. She swallowed reflexively and slowly closed the book, her gaze never leaving his. "So if your father dies before naming his heir… you will go to war with your brothers."
Seconds passed in silence.
Ragnar did not look away. The answer was written plainly in his eyes long before he spoke.
"I will fight, if it comes to that," he said simply. "I don't have a choice."
Circe's heart began to race at the thought of him marching into battle—the possibility of him never returning. A tight lump formed in her throat, making it impossible to swallow.
It was a future that might never come to fruition, yet the fear of it curled painfully in her chest all the same.
